Cruel Memory
by BollyKnickers
Summary: Dan forgets a lot of things, remembers very few. Medication only makes things worse. So why can't he forget this? Char/Dan. Dan's POV.


**A/N: **Ok so I wrote this literally the day after the episode aired and I just never got round to posting it because I didn't think it was particularly good. Looking back at it now, it still isn't great, but I wanted to post it anyway, while I work on another one. It's pretty short and I don't like the ending, but hey ho. I haven't written anything in a while, so I'm going to try and make amends to that! This is set somewhere in the future, and please remember that I hadn't seen the rest of the season yet because it hadn't aired yet, so it is not completely fitting with what has happened in canon since then.

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There are days when Daniel cannot remember his own name. He has to flick to the front page of his journal, squint at the writing, spell it out in his brain and then he'll remember again. Every time he goes through this process the name looks more foreign than it did the time before. Formulas which were once drilled into his brain, recited daily, written out, four letters per second; those are gone too, faint numbers and signs and nothing more. The corners of the pages of his journal are torn, dirty from constant use.

He doesn't remember his parents names, their faces, whether he has siblings, whether his mother and father are even still alive. These facts were not written down; useless information. Things he'd known since birth but that weren't important now. He can only assume that he has no family. No one visits him here, no one sends him letters or birthday cards – not that he remembers what date that is, either – no one calls for a chat. He sees a glimmer of recognition in one of the other patients' eyes when he passes, but even if he has ever met the man before, he wouldn't know it. There is no familiarity in his large form.

He forgets a lot of things, remembers very few. Medication only makes things worse.

So why can't he forget _this_?

Dan thinks his mind must be torturing him, playing the same loop of film over and over and over in his head, pushing and pulling at his brain, trying to tear him apart. It's the only logical explanation for why _that_ would be the only thing he can remember. And logic is what Daniel deals with, even if he doesn't have much of his own left.

He can only remember flickers of her from before it, but each vision is so vivid, detailed, that she might as well be in the room with him. He remembers her hair, the way the light caught it, like flames dancing before his eyes. It was soft too – though he does not know how he knows this – and smelt weakly of coconut shampoo. Her eyes, the exact color of the ocean, stuck in his memory too, and he was sure he must have stared into them on thousands of occasions, mesmerised.

He does not remember kissing her, doesn't even know if he ever did, although he's sure he wanted to. He can't remember what her voice sounded like, or a single sentence she'd ever spoken, but he decides that this doesn't matter. Especially since words would only make what he can remember more difficult.

Dan remembers Charlotte – he remembers her name, too – lying on the ground, remembers himself clutching at her hands, the look of terror on her face as she realized what was happening. He remembers the tears he shed, the feeling of everything dying within him. He remembers sitting with her for over an hour, not wanting to leave her alone. Her hands were cold, and he remembers touching her face, searching for the comfort and warmth he used to find there, instead finding that cold too. This is the only way he remembers touching her and every part of him regrets doing it. He's sure if he'd known it would be stuck in his memory for the rest of time he would never have done it.

He remembers having to throw up behind a tree, sliding to the ground and crying until he thought he couldn't possibly cry any more.

It's these images that flash in technicolor in his mind every time his eyes close, no matter how many pills and injections and sedatives the doctors supply him with. He dreams of the moment, watches the life leave her eyes over and over and knows he can't do anything about it. He'll never be able to do anything about it.


End file.
